


An Open Letter to the Void

by AnOmensLetters



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Literally just me screaming into the void for catharsis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOmensLetters/pseuds/AnOmensLetters
Summary: I’m plagued with thoughts that choke me out. I cannot share them or they block my throat... so to keep from cracking under the pressure or tick, tick, ticking until I explode... I present these thoughts as they come.





	An Open Letter to the Void

It keeps me up at night. It really does. Sometimes it’s the realization once again dawning on me that I am inexplicably expendable. There’s never been someone who couldn’t live life without me, who couldn’t avoid thinking of or talking to me regularly. I’m someone who has the unremarkable ability to slip out of people’s minds. 

I can’t say it bothers me all the time, I’ve always been expendable and it’s all I know, but sometimes it just... isn’t something you have the energy for. When everyone puts you to the side on reserve for when their first and often second choices are gone. 

I’ve always been expendable. 

I think about how you have so many other people who love you. I think about how it’s the same for everyone I love. I think about how when I moved home, my niece who I cradled so often and watched and nurtured had regarded me as a stranger. I think how my close family regards me with little respect or pride. 

I think about how we’ll likely never be able to meet, face to face, go on a date, hold hands. You’ll never see my freckles that you have to be so close to notice with my glasses. You’ll never touch my back and notice how my spine has drifted to one side from the pure tension I carry. And I’ll never feel how greasy your hair is before wash day, or truly process how tall you are in high heels, towering above me. I’ll never be able to feel the scars on your skin and the feeling of your eyes looking at me like I’m magic. 

When I was young, I wanted to be a star. I wanted to perform and inspire people and turn their darkest days into brighter ones. I wanted to make children smile and elder folk remember nostalgic stories of their youth. 

Perhaps if I had been more special, or if I’d lived up to my potential it would be different. Perhaps if I’d done that, when people said they loved me or that I was special or that it mattered— that _I_ mattered— it would mean something to my sick little brain.

Perhaps I could have been that. Maybe I could have, if I wasn’t like this. But I am. And I will be. 

And I’m _so tired_ of being so _unremarkable_ and so _goddamn explendable._


End file.
